He’s smirking at me now. He’s loving this. Well, let him. Fuck him. Fuck everything. My eyes are prickling with angry, despairing tears and my mouth is opening to tell him I quit when I feel a gentle, firm hand on my back. I glance at Art.
‘We’ve got this, Susan,’ he says with conviction, but he doesn’t take his eyes off mine. ‘We can do it.’
‘Brilliant!’ Susan’s clearly relieved to have even a fake assurance of competence.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ says Bernard. He turns to me. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. You might have destroyed our anniversary episode.’
He’s right. I know I didn’t do anything on purpose, but factually he’s right.
‘Now, Bernard,’ says Susan. ‘Annie couldn’t have known—’
‘Annie,’ says Bernard, saying my name as if he’s holding it at arm’s length, ‘is meant to be professional. Well. Clearly not professional enough. I won’t forget this.’
Susan clears her throat. ‘Obviously you’ll get more time to rewrite these scenes. The normal rules don’t apply this week because, well, it’s such an emergency. So if you could get the new versions done by first thing on Monday?’
‘I—’ I begin. Then I gather whatever tiny bit of strength I haveleft and look Bernard straight in the eye. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Monday is fine.’
‘Thanks, guys,’ says Susan. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’
Bernard doesn’t say a word. He just looks at us with contempt, shakes his head and leaves.
As soon as the door closes behind them I realise my hands are shaking.
‘McDermott?’ says Art. ‘Are you okay?’
I shake my head. I can’t say anything because if I start speaking I’ll start crying. I’m really, really not okay. I’ve finally hit a wall, and I’ve hit it very, very hard. I’m not in the mood to hear Art brush off what’s happening, or tell me I have nothing to lose, or there’s no need to worry.
But he doesn’t do any of those things.
He says, ‘God, it’s weird seeing you look so sad. I preferred it when you were glaring at me.’
I can’t deal with him taking the piss right now. ‘Iamglaring at you,’ I say, glaring at him, but my voice wobbles as I say it.
‘Oh, Annie, come here,’ says Art, and then he puts his arms around me.
I find myself softening into his embrace as I lean my full weight against him and he holds me tightly. It’s the first time we’ve been so physically close without kissing or taking each other’s clothes off, and maybe it should be awkward, maybe it should be too intimate, but somehow it isn’t. Somehow it’s just what I need right now. For a few moments we stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, holding each other up. My face is pressed against his chest and I can hear his heart beating fast through his shirt. I can feel my own heartbeat too, first racing, then gradually slower as my breathing calms down. Eventually I pull away.
‘Thanks,’ I say, ‘for that.’
‘You’re welcome,’ says Art. ‘I needed it too, to be honest.’ He looks down at me. ‘I meant it, you know. What I said to them. We’ve got this.’
‘Well, you’ll be okay,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure I will. I’m the one whose episode’s biggest moment is totally fucked.’
‘Jesus, McDermott,’ says Art. ‘You don’t think I’m going to leave you on your own with this, do you? I’ll do whatever I can to help your episode. If you want the help, that is. And if you could help me with mine, that would be great too. I think this is a time for teamwork.’
I feel a tiny bit, just a very tiny bit, lighter.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I think it is.’
Chapter Twenty
INT:NORTHSIDEOFFICES / INT: ITALIAN RESTAURANT / INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE
Art Sullivan has never struck me as a natural collaborator. God,I’venever struck me as a natural collaborator. But to my amazement, working together turns out to be okay. In fact, it’s a lot better than okay.
Once I’ve got myself under control, we spend the rest of Thursday afternoon working on his episode. Which means, of course, that I have to read his script for the first time.
‘I’m getting a coffee,’ says Art, as I open the file in theNorthsidesystem. ‘I’m not hovering around here while you’re reading it.’